I´m having some trouble inserting photos into blog posts, for the moment you can check out the photos from this trip here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/damienm/SouthAmerica2009#

Early to bed means early to rise, so we were up and about at dawn on our first full day in Santiago. Our guidebook suggested a walking route past lots of key points of interest so that was our plan for the morning. Hopefully the afternoon would look after itself, and it did: we had a perfect day.

Most points on the walking tour were only mildly interesting, but it did help help us get our bearings in this flat and very walkable city. The highlight was visiting one of only two un-flat areas of town, Cerro San Lucia, a small and beautifully landscaped rocky outcrop of a park with spectacular views from its summit. Although it was overcast and smoggy we could still see a fair way into the distance as the pics below show, and the steep climb to the top made it feel like we´d earnt them.

After an indifferent but cheap lunch we went hunting for authentic local crafts, wandering through the beautiful La Starria and Belles Artes areas immediately north of Cerro San Lucia. Not finding anything of interest we crossed the river to Bellavista, an area known for its nightlife but which also houses some local craft markets and shops. And while walking east through Bellavista it happened: the sky cleared fully and we could suddenly see the white peaks of the Andes that had been hidden by clouds since we´d arrived. Awesome to look at and seemingly very close, though they are actually dozens of kilometres away.

Returning to Bellas Artes mid-afternoon, Joel spied an intriguing bar and led us into it. What a find: the modestly-lit pub had several small wood-panelled walls covered with artifacts, objects, posters and photographs of all sorts, comfy dark wooden tables and chairs that invited conversation, and we spent a couple of hours there deep in chat. We later discovered it is mentioned in the guidebook as worthy destination, which it certainly is!

After a brief trip back to the hostel to drop off our cameras and freshen up, we went to a famously popular beef restaurant called “Las Vacas Gordas” (The Fat Cows) only a short walk away. Always busy, this place offers steak in more than 30 different ways and can cook them good. Despite not having a booking we were seated quickly and both opted for T-bone with mash, a simple option that was not out-of-this world but was certainly good washed down with a bottle of local red.

By now it was well into the night, but we still decided to drop in on the hostel´s bar for a drink or two. And got chatting to a group of Australian women, and the group swelled, and the drinks flowed, and then somehow it was 4am. We were woken by a cleaner at 11.30 the next morning who pointed out we´d left our keys in the bedroom door… after breakfast and an attempt at using the internet I had to go back to bed for the day, Joel went on a shopping expedition but also retired after a couple of hours. We surfaced about 8pm and headed off to the suburb of Providencia for a late dinner at a supposedly British-themed pub, seeking familiar food and a small dose of non-Spanish life for a few hours. Apart from a couple of faded posters there was nothing British about the place at all, however it was relaxing and tasty with friendly service from an english-speaking waitress. Very little beer was had that night.

Getting through the airport and into town was a breeze, and we were thrilled to find our hostel and room were both fine. Housed in a converted 19th-century mansion, La Casa Roja is a large place with high ceilings, faded lounges, enormous kitchen and it´s own bar out the back. We had chosen one of the few double rooms with private bathroom (large and well-appointed) which also happened to be the quietest room in the house, according to the Australian bartender. As things can get quite rowdy at night this is a major plus – we even had a semi-private courtyard off our room to relax in the open air.

After the essential shower and unpack we were both keen to see something of the city, even though it was cold and gently raining. Joel had read of a famous bar in the city which sounded very interesting, so we walked into town to check it out and got our first taste of street life on the way. There is no discernible architectural style in Santiago, and while there are plenty of gems to be found noone can accuse it of being pretty. Roller-door shopfronts are the norm everywhere apart from the indoor malls just off Plaza de Armas, pretty colonial structures can be side-by-side with drably functional eyesores, and rows of soulless apartment blocks drift into the distance.

However the atmosphere at La Piojera was anything but drab and soulless; walking in there was like getting a punch in the face. Inside was a large cavernous room with exposed beams in the very high ceiling, dozens of people sat at the cluster of cramped, sticky and graffiti-covered wooden tables smoking and drinking, down the right side of the room was a long bar at which people drank, smoked and stood, and off to the left was a smaller room with more drinking and smoking going down. Everyone was talking loudly to be heard over the din and several traditional singer-guitarists wandered the room playing for coins, which added even more to the noise, but somehow it seemed like they all stopped and stared when we walked in. They didn´t actually stop talking, but for the first five minutes we were ogled by all and sundry as we stood and grinned like idiots to each other at the sheer culture shock we were going through. After the relative calm and familiarity of the city´s streets it was like stepping into another dimension. “La Piojera” means “The Louse Pit”.

We managed to buy a longneck of beer and sat down at the only spare seats in the house, somewhere near the centre of the vortex. The first bottle of beer was drained very quickly, then a second, as we gathered ourselves together and began halting conversation with the two young guys from the south of Chile next to us. Joel surprised me with a tumbler of the house specialty, terremoto, which is a fiery mix of cider, fernat and ice cream. You sip it through a straw and stir and stir and stir to mix the ice cream in thoroughly as it melts. And you do it all sloooowly, as it´s extremely powerful. It took a while to get the taste and I made mine last 45 minutes or so and still managed to stay on my seat, but it was touch and go for a while there…

When the guys next to us left a neighbouring table of five Chileans asked us to join them, and for the next hour or so we chatted and got some advice on where to go and what to do. Interestingly they all said we should be very careful and not trust anyone, as they said we would be ripped off somehow if we did. The warning didn´t apply to them, of course! By this stage the jetlag and booze was taking its toll, and we got a taxi back to the hostel and went straight to bed. Well, okay we might have checked out the hostel bar for a bit before retiring 😉